


Ineffable Husbands go Trick or Treating

by KittyDorkling



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aziraphale is the cutest pumpkin, Hallowe'en, M/M, Mention of cancer, trick or treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-05
Updated: 2019-11-05
Packaged: 2021-01-23 19:56:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21325783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KittyDorkling/pseuds/KittyDorkling
Summary: This is a gift forNarcoslugwho draws the most BEAUTIFUL Gomens art, including this Hallowe'enDraw This In Your Style, and has been having a truly crappy time with art reposters.I'm not much of an artist so I decided to write for it instead.  It's a bit late but here you go!
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 56





	Ineffable Husbands go Trick or Treating

\---

“I am an Angel. I do not sulk,” said Aziraphale, sulkily.

Crowley ran a hand through his hair in exasperation, careful not to accidentally streak any of his white facepaint into it. He leaned back against the side of the Bentley, currently parked outside Jasmine cottage with a sulky angel inside it, no matter what Aziraphale claimed.

“It’s not like anyone’s going to be giving out Teuscher champagne truffles, Angel,” he tried. “It’s all palm oil and high-fructose corn syrup out there.”

“That’s not the point! It’s the principle! And I put a lot of effort into my costume, you know. It took hours to get the stalk right on this hat.”

“It’s terrific. Sexiest pumpkin I’ve ever seen, not that… I mean there’s not much competition on sexy pumpkins, but if there was, you’d… yeah, that’s… you know what I mean, anyway. The point is, you look great, the kids are waiting for us, and we can’t spoil their Hallowe’en, can we?”

Aziraphale considered, pursing his lips thoughtfully, and relented. He opened the passenger side door at last and maneuvered his large, padded pumpkin form out of the car with somewhat less grace than usual. 

“I suppose I’d better leave this here,” he said wistfully, setting down the little matching pumpkin-shaped basket he had brought with him on the seat.

Crowley thought for a moment, then grinned. He snapped his fingers, and suddenly in his own hand was a similar basket, this one shaped like a human skull to go with his skeleton costume. 

“No, bring it with you,” he said. “I’ve got a plan.”

\---

It had been Adam’s idea to invite his new supernatural guardians to come trick-or-treating with the Them, and it was, in retrospect, a bit of a shame no-one had made it clearer to Aziraphale that the treats were usually given out just to children.

The costumes weren’t quite as he had expected either. Wensleydale was dressed as a witch, which made sense, but Brian was dressed as a circus clown with a red balloon, which surely wasn’t scary at all, and Pepper was wearing braids, facepaint, and some sort of futurist armour that she said was “Shuri from Black Panther”. Adam barely seemed to even be in a costume, with his green tweed coat, tie, checked shirt, and neatly trimmed false beard, and Dog beside him in some sort of furry brown dog’s jacket. Aziraphale couldn’t place the resemblance at all, and Adam wasn’t telling, but everyone seemed to think it was very funny indeed.

He only hoped his own pumpkin outfit wasn’t too ridiculous. Crowley had dressed in a skintight skeleton suit that kept riding up over his stomach a little, revealing a tiny dusting of hair just over the waistband and the sharp angles of his hips. It wasn’t so much scary as obscene, thought Aziraphale fondly, and he was very much looking forward to peeling it off later.

They followed the children through the star-speckled early evening into Tadfield and approached the first house with a lit jack-o-lantern on its doorstep, where the Them gleefully bellowed “Trick or treat!” into the face of the little old lady who appeared. There was the faint chime of a miracle as she reached for her bowl of sweets, and Aziraphale was sure it wasn’t one of his.

“Oh, don’t you look frightening!” she chuckled, tossing lollipops into all four baskets before beckoning Aziraphale and Crowley closer. “Come closer you two, I can’t cant throw that far!”

Azriraphale shuffled forward politely. “But,” he began, and the old lady clapped her hands to her face in delight.

“Aren’t you the sweetest little thing!” she exclaimed. “Such an adorable pumpkin!”

She reached out to gently pinch his cheek and added an extra lollipop to his basket. Aziraphale stared dumbly down at it in surprise.

“Thanks, missus,” said Crowley cheerfully, and grimaced as his hair was ruffled in turn. The old lady had to reach up quite a distance to manage it, though she didn’t seem to notice.

“Be safe out there, kiddies! Happy Hallowe’en!” she said, and waved them all off.

The Them were already halfway to the house next door, and Aziraphale turned to Crowley in confusion. “I think she thought we were children,” he whispered.

“Must’ve been her eyesight,” grinned Crowley. “Old bat like that.”

\---

It appeared all of Tadfield was suffering from a similar degree of myopia that night, since Crowley and Aziraphale’s baskets ended up every bit as full as anyone else’s, to the point of almost overflowing. They were almost ready to turn in for the night when Crowley noticed a house they had missed. 

There was a lit pumpkin carved with just a simple circle opening for its candle on a step beside the gate, which stood between the most neatly pruned hedges Crowley had ever seen. Up the path was a square, brutally symmetrical cottage that looked as if it was standing to attention. 

“What about that one?” he asked, pointing.

Adam snorted. “We don’t go there. That’s Mr Tyler’s house.”

“It looks like they’ve got treats, though. Wouldn’t it be a little impolite to leave them out?” asked Aziraphale.

“Hardly,” said Pepper, with venom. “What’s impolite is giving out half a chocolate bar wrapped in a little bit of paper that says you can earn the other half if you do these jobs like, mow my law, clean my car, do my shopping. It’s slave labour.”

“And you don’t get the other half of the chocolate bar, either. My father made me clean Mr Tyler’s car and at the end he said he didn’t keep sweets in the house, so he gave me 10p and told me to buy my own.” Wensleydale told his tale with the confidence of practice, as his friends nodded solemnly. It had clearly been told before.

“You can’t even get anything with 10p these days,” sighed Brian. “It should be illegal.”

Crowley was already unlatching the gate. “Ahh, that was last year though. You can never tell.”

“Last year and the year before. And the year before that,” mumbled Pepper mutinously, following along all the same. The rest of the Them did likewise, Adam included, though he hung back furthest of all.

Crowley sauntered up to the door and rapped on the knocker. There was the sound of yapping, and several deadbolts coming unlatched, and then Mr R. P. Tyler appeared, a largely-empty bowl in his hand. Sure enough, all the bars of chocolate it contained had been cut in half and wrapped in a piece of paper.

“Good evening, young ‘uns!” he said, with forced jollity. “I’m sure you know the drill by now. Line up!”

Pepper stepped forward first, holding out her basket with a wide, defiant smile. 

“Trick or treat!” she said, and gasped as a full sized, foot-long Toblerone was placed inside.

“That’s not...” Mr Tyler stared in astonishment, looking from his bowl to her basket. There certainly had not been any large Toblerones a moment ago. 

“Thanks, Mr Tyler!” said Pepper quickly, and scampered out of reach with a giggle.

The same thing happened with Brian. Crowley leaned against the porch grinning wider than any skull had a right to, the faint chime of repeated miracles ringing out all around him, inaudible to human ears. 

“Um, I can’t eat those,” said Wensleydale in a small voice. “I’m allergic to nuts, actually.”

“S’alright,” said Crowley, and pointed at the enormous bar of Dairy Milk that had previously been a Toblerone, and prior to that half a Mars Bar, now having an identity crisis in Wensleydale’s basket.

“Cool,” said Wensleydale in awed tones.

“Are there children?” called a faint voice from inside the house, and Mr Tyler, whose face had been growing increasingly red and furious throughout the whole performance, looked suddenly aghast.

“Sweetheart, no, don’t strain yourself,” he called, taking half a step back. 

Before he could say more, someone had appeared on the staircase behind him. Appropriately enough, she looked very much like a ghost, with thin wisps of white hair floating around her drawn, pale face, and a long white nightgown. Ghosts probably didn’t go in for pink slippers and enormous, fluffy dressing gowns, however.

“Hello, little ones!” she said. It was quavery, barely more than a whisper, but there was no mistaking the friendliness in it. “Oh, don’t you look wonderful! Look, Ronnie, do look, this one is dressed up as you! And he even has a little Shutzi!”

“Hi,” said Adam, waving awkwardly from the back of the group. His false beard was coming slightly adrift, but once you looked closely, it was undeniably true. He was definitely dressed as Mr Tyler.

“You must be Adam,” said the woman, smiling. “I’ve heard so much about you. You like apples, don’t you?”

“Mary, you can’t stand in this draft,” said Mr “Ronnie” Tyler anxiously. “You’ll catch your death. Please, sweetheart.”

Silently Aziraphale caught Crowley’s eye and drew down a miracle of his own, a rather larger one than they had used so far that evening, swiftly shrinking the multiplying cancer cells in Mary Tyler’s pancreas until they vanished into nothingness. She drew a breath, and stood just a fraction straighter than before.

“I will, Ronnie. Although, do you know, I don’t feel too awful just at the moment. Perhaps I could help you hand out the sweeties to our next callers? Do you remember when we used to have Hallowe’en parties, all those years ago when our boys were young? Such fun.”

“They do say happiness is the most infectious thing,” said Aziraphale brightly. There was a rustling sound as he spoke, and the Tyler’s bowl of treats was now positively crammed with confectionary. “It might even do you some good.”

Mr Tyler looked about to protest. Then he sighed, shook his head, and laid a gentle hand on his wife’s cheek. 

“Anything for you, Mary,” he said, his voice so soft and loving it barely sounded like him. “I’ll fetch you a shawl, just in case.”

Pepper was already back at the garden gate, leaning over it to make an important announcement to the children of Tadfield still on their rounds. 

“Mr Tyler’s got candy! Actual good candy!” she yelled. “Mr Tyler’s got candy and you need to come here right now!”

“How lovely!” cried Mrs Tyler, clapping her hands at the approaching sounds of shouting and running feet. “Happy Hallowe’en!”

“Happy Hallowe’en,” agreed Aziraphale, herding the Them away swiftly to avoid the oncoming stampede. 

“And many more Hallowe’ens to come, am I right?” asked Crowley quietly, once the children were far enough ahead of them not to overhear. 

Aziraphale smiled, and nodded.

\---

“That went well,” said Crowley, swinging his basket. His other hand was occupied with holding Aziraphale’s, strolling home through the now-empty village in the moonlight. The Them had been dropped back off at their various houses, and he and his Angel were heading back to the Pulsifer’s place, where Anathema had promised them both hot toddies before they drove home. 

“It did,” agreed Aziraphale.

“Good job no-one’s monitoring the miracles any more. Although I could always claim that one if need be. Say I cured her on Hallowe’en to persuade her into Satanism.”

Aziraphale laughed out loud. “That might be a long shot, even for your silver tongue, dearest. No, I’m pretty sure we’re far enough off the radar for no-one to notice one miraculous cure.”

Crowley shrugged. “Yeah, probably. Anyway, explain to me why we bothered trick-or-treating when you gave all your treats to the kids at the end.”

“So did you.”

“Angel, I don’t eat.”

“That’s true. Well, I suppose it’s more blessed to give than to receive, isn’t it?” Aziraphale squirmed a bit inside his costume, unwilling to be too untruthful even without Heaven’s oversight. “You were right anyway, it did all look a bit disgusting.”

“Ha! Told you so.” As they reached the Bentley, Crowley paused and unlocked it, reaching for something under the driver’s seat before handing Aziraphale a box of _‘Spiced White Chocolate Pumpkin Truffles’._ “More to your taste, Angel? I saw them before we left and thought of you.” 

“Oh, my darling!” exclaimed Aziraphale. “They look scrumptious, how kind! But whatever can I give you in return?”

“I’ve got a few ideas,” murmured Crowley, squashing the padding of Aziraphale’s costume back against the Bentley’s door as he leaned in for a kiss.

\---

By the time they entered Jasmine cottage, the pair of them were both wearing a remarkable amount of smeared grey facepaint and beaming smiles.

Anathema and Newt, who had glanced out of the window a quarter hour previously, simply served up the hot toddies and decided not to mention it.

Even for Tadfield, where happy holidays were a spookily regular occurrence, it was a very Happy Hallowe’en.


End file.
